Rebel Daughter

When I think about Jewish summer camp, I remember the color war songs and the overly sweet shabbat wine, the way we all complained about swimming even though we loved it and the perpetually damp towels that never fully dried on the clothing lines. But I also remember Tisha B’Av, the Jewish day of mourning for the loss of the Temple, which always falls in the summer.

The entire camp would sit on the floor. Those who had reached B’nei Mitzvah would fast. The camp library was fully stocked with depressing Holocaust narratives to help those interested muster up some tears for Jewish tragedy across the ages. For many it was a deeply spiritual experience. For me, it was awkward, forced and uncomfortable. 

Those books did not help the situation. Instead, they made me too scared to sleep, convinced me incalculable evil hid in the hearts of everyday humans and filled me with terror so strong I still can’t breathe when I’m waiting for my passport renewal to arrive. They made me sad but they did not help me mourn the temple.

Too bad Rebel Daughter by Lori Banov Kaufmann wasn’t around back then. Although, I’m not sure the camp library would have stocked it. It’s too honest and accurate about how Judaism was practiced in those days. About the fact that while many of our customs are the same, others are wildly different. Proof that we as a people do change over time with outside influence and learn to adapt with society and ever advancing technology while still holding our sacred traditions dear.

Never have I read such a well researched, vivid and gripping description of what life was like for Jews under Roman rule in a work of fiction. Never has the destruction of the Temple, come alive in quite this way for me.

The marketing material had me worried this might be an oppressor/oppressed romance. It is not. Instead this is a meticulously researched fictionalized account of Esther, the daughter of a high ranking temple priest, as she lives through the Jewish revolts against the Romans and the ultimate devastation that resulted. It is a tale of Jew fighting Jew, the shame of subjugation and the loss of everything one holds dear. It brings to focus the shocking reality that sometimes the battle lines we seek to draw are hazy at best and distinguishing ally from enemy is not always easy.

Most of all it is a tale of historical accuracy. I was grateful for the chance to see my ancestors as real people with real lives. Including the fact that young girls were considered women back then and how very much like property women of all ages were treated. This was Esther’s reality and I appreciated the honesty. Even if it did make my stomach turn.

Revelations in this book include the fact that Jews were not always pale, suit-wearing, yeshiva students. Nor were the great Rabbis and priests of old strangers to taking up weapons and fighting. When Esther described muscular Jewish rebels, who also split their time in study houses, it felt right. When she danced in the Tu B’av circle or waited in line for the women’s ritual baths in broad daylight I mourned the fact that such customs would today be called “immodest”. Because we shouldn’t have lost the knowledge of our ancestors right along with our temple.

Who Esther ends up with romantically by the end of the book is, in my humble opinion, besides the point. It’s the “B plot” so to speak and it never took up that much headspace for me. When she does find love it is through a process that Jews have been experiencing for centuries: living through tragedy and figuring out how to survive despite it.

Did I cry? No. But I finally felt the destruction of the temple in a way that was real. I regained a piece of my heritage that had been long lost. To me, that is preferable.

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